


A Different Kind of Feeling

by ominousfordhamroad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rule 63, condoms are important, rule 63 bucky!, steve is a cunning linguist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousfordhamroad/pseuds/ominousfordhamroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a slow recovery from her time as the Winter Soldier, but Rebecca Barnes is starting to feel something like her old self. She lives with Steve Rogers in Avengers Tower and ventures out from time to time. When a memory long buried is brought to the surface, she begins to question the nature of their relationship and whether or not it's time to get out of dodge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Feeling

There were a great many things Rebecca Barnes was certain of. It was almost, but not quite, a point of pride. After seven decades of not really being certain of anything, of being nothing more than a blank slate loaded down by more weapons than most saw in a lifetime, certainty was something she'd cling to when she felt uneasy.

Steve had learned this early on. Back when her face had lacked any emotion and she began to relearn how to be a person, she would make sudden decisions about anything. The first thing, he always remembered with a small, fond smile, was the fact that she'd hated the plain white sheets on her overly large bed. Coldly, with arms resting flat against her sides, she'd stated that she wouldn't sleep on it until she got different sheets.

"With colors," she'd said. And then her brows had knit together and she'd looked confused, as though she hadn't recognized her own speech.

A week later, after a night on rainbow colored jersey sheets, she declared that she hated the plain cereal that Steve bought and demanded he bring something different. When he'd asked what, her eyes had widened and she'd shut down for ten minutes before Steve told her that he'd bring her a bunch and she could figure out what worked best for her.

She'd gone through Honey Nut Cheerios ("they're okay"), Raisin Bran ("disgusting!"), Fruit Loops ("what are those even made of?!"), Lucky Charms (instead of speaking, she'd spooned the entire contents of her bowl into her mouth in two goes), Coco Puffs (which she'd liked more for the chocolaty milk than for the cereal), before finally deciding that Waffle Crisps were her favorite.

Steve pulled a face at her, but she ignored him and figured that if Steve didn't like it, that meant more for her in the long run anyway. She'd then eaten nothing but for breakfast for the better part of two months.

Becky had gone through a number of different clothing and hair styles and tried to keep from sticking to one for too long, but knew with absolute certainty what she disliked and avoided short shorts about as vehemently as she avoided the sundresses she'd worn before the war. She tended to stick to a darker color palette, but didn't just wear black. Natasha would have teased her about it too much. Her hair usually could be seen in a long braid down her back. Except for when it was loose and curling down near her fingertips.

There was a lot Rebecca Barnes had learned to be certain about. And, sitting on their living room couch, she was absolutely certain that she wasn't going to go out dancing. "No, Steve," she said, crossing her arms over her chest as though that was the end of the discussion. She probably knew better, but that wasn't about to keep her from trying. Becky knew Steve better than she knew herself most days, and that meant she was familiar with his sometimes endearing, but mostly frustrating stubbornness.

"It's something to do, Beck," Steve said. He was standing before her with a frown on his face, golden sunlight streaming in through the window and catching on his hair. He looked like something out of scripture, except much more obnoxious. "It's not like you can't handle the crowd or the noise. And maybe you'll like it."

And it was true; they'd tested Becky's limits over the course of the past few months to see how much she could take of the outside world. She hadn't had any flashbacks, hadn't snapped. Not in the center of Times Square, with its garish advertisements flashing down on her, and not in the crowded streets of Chinatown, where Steve had been careful to put himself between Becky and as many innocent passersby as possible, just in case. Her programming, as far as anyone, even the former esteemed SHIELD doctors still kept on Tony's retainer could tell, had been erased.

"I haven't gone dancing in seventy-something years," Becky huffed. She sounded petulant even to her own ears. "I don't even know how to do it anymore."

"You'll be better off than me," Steve shot back.

"That's not that difficult," Becky said, eyes narrowing. "More important, I don't wanna."

"It's something new. And maybe it'll be good for your memory. And," Steve said, a frustratingly calm tone creeping into his voice, "we're due to go out and do something and you don't wanna be the one to come up with anything. Every time I ask you to do something with me, you say no." There was a pause and the silence that threatened to settle over them wasn't exactly comfortable.

"Look, Steve, I'm-"

"I thought it might be fun."

There was something small and almost vulnerable in Steve's eye that stopped Becky from making the sharp comment that danced on her tongue. She and Steve had a habit of going out about once a month and they were about due. She also was aware of the fact that she'd been reluctant to go out recently, for no other reason than that she liked their home in Stark's Tower better than she liked outside. But Steve was watching for signs of depression and regression and maybe he was reading into it.

"Is this Natasha's idea?" Becky asked, voice flat.

"No." Steve shook his head. He looked guilty.

The pair of them had a bad habit of talking about Becky behind her back. She also suspected that Sam and Clint were part of the small, getting Becky better cabal. Out of all the Avengers, she was most fond of them and they understood her best. They also had a habit of worrying just a bit too much, though Natasha was much better at hiding her concern than the others.

"But she didn't think it was a bad idea, did she?"

"No," Steve said, wilting a little in defeat.

"Will you leave me alone if I say yes?" Becky asked, rolling her eyes heavenward while her flesh fingers drummed against her steel arm. Before Steve could answer, she pressed forward, "And if I wanna go, will you let me leave?"

"Yeah, Beck, of course. I wouldn't force you. If you really don't want to go-"

"I'll go. Just. Stop looking at me like I kicked your goddamn puppy."

Steve flashed a smile at her. Though Becky tried to keep the sour turn of her lips from shifting into something closer to a smile, she couldn't help that she softened around her eyes. Steve Rogers had that effect on her. Sometimes she hated it, but most of the time she was grateful enough to have him as a friend.

"So what's dancing like now?" Displeasure thick in her voice, though her eyes danced with quiet amusement.

"I... actually don't know." Steve said. "I mean, I've seen some movies. But I don't know what people our ages actually do. Natasha said you'd probably be interested in a leather bar, but I don't know if that's really my speed." If he were honest, he'd have admitted that he wasn't entirely sure what a leather bar entailed, but the images it conjured weren't exactly something Steve wanted to delve into.

"You're a boring old man," Becky said, and she couldn't help the grin. "If we stayed at your speed, we'd have to find a old person home. Oh," she added after a beat, "I ain't wearing a dress or doing rolls in my hair or anything."

"I figured." Finally, Steve moved toward the couch until he was standing by Becky. He nudged her leg gently with his knee until she made room for him and then, with little grace, he sat down beside her. The couch sank in slightly and Becky had to make an effort to not fall into his side. "Hope it won't disappoint you," he said, "but I don't think I'll be curling my hair, either."

Becky just grinned as Steve reached for the remote.

\------

Steve had suggested finding a dance hall. He'd said that Becky could probably dance circles around people who hadn't lived through what they had, but Becky had put a quick end to this line of conversation. She didn't admit aloud that she didn't think the moves would come naturally to her, or that her memories of going out and dancing all night with strange, handsome boys were foggy at best. Instead, she stated that she'd wanted something new and that it was important to try to fit in to modern times and not chase after their history.

And so they'd found themselves down on the lower East side of Manhattan, wandering the streets. Natasha had given them a list of bars that they'd be able to try with a brief indication of what the atmosphere and music was like. 

"You know," Steve said as they walked, "Tony said it'd be better if we went to this club... I don't even remember the name anymore."

"I've seen Stark's idea of a party," Becky shook her head, memories of his last birthday nearly giving her the shivers, "Don't think I'd really be comfortable at his kinda club."

She was wearing dark pants, boots, and black leather jacket atop a light colored tank top. Her hair was in a long french braid down her back. It was about as dressed up as Becky ever got these days and if Steve had anything negative to say about it, he kept it to himself. For his part, it'd seemed like Steve had allowed Sam or, maybe, Clint to dress him for the night; he'd traded his typical grandpa look for something more modern. He wore jeans and a shirt with sneakers that matched and a jacket that, if Becky squinted, she'd think belonged to Sam. It was tight enough that it wouldn't zip up his chest, she could tell, but the arms were loose enough to allow movement. It made him look handsome, though Becky didn't share this thought with Steve.

"Well, there's one down the block from here," he said as they turned on Second Avenue. "Wanna give it a shot?"

Becky's mouth twitched. Giving things a shot would be a hell of a lot more comforting than what they were planning to do. For a second, her hand itched for a gun, her finger moving an invisible trigger. "Sure," she said breezily. "Might as well just get it over with, right?"

"There's that positive, go-get-'em Barnes attitude we all know and love."

"Stuff it, Rogers," Becky said as she led them toward a bouncer.

It didn't take much to be let in, though the bouncer did stare between Steve and Steve's ID for a few extra second before he let them pass. Becky went first and had to fight down the urge to panic as loud music assaulted her ears once she stepped over the threshold. Eyes wide, she glanced quickly around the room as she stepped deeper into the place. She got all Winter Soldier when in unfamiliar territory, scanning for exits, searching for potential threats. Her eyes got meaner and her stance got stiffer and it wasn't until she felt Steve's hand on her shoulder that she relaxed a little and remembered herself.

"Hey," he said, leaning in behind her and speaking to her as softly as one could in so loud a space, "If you need to go, just say the word."

Becky shook her head, suddenly feeling defiant. There'd been a time when she would have bolted, but she had been steadily improving over time. Now, she wasn't sure if she needed to prove something to herself or Steve, but she knew she wasn't leaving. "I'm fine," she said, setting her jaw. This sort of place wasn't about to beat her. "Think I might get a drink, though."

There was a bar that had two attractive women standing behind it, flitting from person to person, near frantic in their doling out of liquor and fetching of cash. It didn't seem an easy job and Becky had the sense to feel bad for them. Of course, when she noticed how much money was going their way, she realized that it might have been worth the rush.

There were people everywhere in this bar, with a few seats scattered around the sides of the room. The dance floor was full and people were so close that it made Becky's stomach curl in discomfort. She couldn't imagine Steve dancing with anybody like that and turned to catch him staring uneasily at the couples who left no space between them.

A mean smile made its way onto her face. "If you need to go," she said, smirking, "just say the word."

"I'm fine." He frowned at her. 

This teasing was something they'd done to one another since childhood. The amount of trouble they tended to get into as children had been at least partially due to the fact that they'd challenged one another until they had no recourse but to fly into the face of danger and, often, stupidity.

Becky didn't wait on Steve, instead she strode up to the bar and ordered herself a Manhattan and a mint julep for Steve. Alcohol didn't work like it once had for Becky, but there was something familiar about the burn of liquor going down her throat that was comforting in a strange way. She was half finished with her drink by the time Steve was just beginning to sip his and the face he was making into his glass, it didn't seem like he was enjoying it as much. He hadn't been the drinker she was back in the day, so this wasn't exactly surprising.

"Give me," Becky said, shaking her head slightly and downing it quickly. Then, after she'd returned the empty glasses, she took Steve by the wrist. "Come on, let's get this over with," she shouted.

This wasn't a place like the diner they went to from time to time that was down the block from their apartment, you couldn't just find a quiet corner and talk. The music here was loud to the point that the vibrations ran through Becky. Though she'd been nervous at first, the crowd had actually managed to put her at ease; there were very few threats in the crowd, most were young students who were half drunk and too focused on a pair of breasts to bring any sort of danger. The noise was off putting, but not impossible to deal with.

The space was tight; bodies were pressed together and moving rhythmically. And once they had found a small space for the two of them, Becky stopped leading and turned to Steve. He looked uneasy.

"I don't know how to dance like this," he spoke apologetically, crowding into Becky's space in a way that would have driven her to violence just a few months ago.

"You don't know how to dance. Period," she shot back, smirking. "But maybe it's not that hard?" She glanced over to a couple that was swaying together, grinding their bodies together. "And no matter what, you asked for this. So it's all your fault if you step on my toes."

She started to move then, not doing it especially well. When it came to memory, Becky's was in tatters. There were moments from their time before the war that she could remember, but there was also a lot of information that she just knew without having distinct memories. Steve had filled in many of the gaps where he could. He'd told Becky that she'd been quite the dancer in her time, but the most she could recall was being twirled by a man whose face she could no longer see. She had the feeling that if she practiced that there were certain moves her feet would make without her giving it much thought.

But this wasn't like a foxtrot or swing.

This was animalistic and raw. As she turned to look at the young people beside her, she noticed telegraphed intentions in the smooth sway of hips and of hands that rested at the very lowest point of a back.

Even in the low light, Becky could see a blush creeping up Steve's cheeks. She tried not to pay much attention to it, wouldn't mock Steve for his discomfort. Not, at least, when they were this close. What she did was try to keep more space between them than what the others around them did, but that didn't work so well.

"Sorry," she spoke into his ear, as someone bumped her close to him. "Jeeze, these kids don't have any manners these days."

Steve responded with a low chuckle. They both spoke like somebody's grandparents from time to time. Their friends, Steve's friends, really, reminded them of this regularly. "It's okay."

"You're not the worst at this."

"Could be better."

"Yeah, but so could I."

They fell into what could have been a comfortable silence, if not for the roar of music. But even that, loud as it was, could be soothing. If Becky closed her eyes, she could almost take the pounding of the bass for a pulse beat. She could almost float away, except that Steve was there, tethering her to the present, as he usually did. Moving more on instinct, she brought her arms around his neck. She only opened her eyes when he started.

"Okay?" she asked, frowning.

"Your fingers. Cold."

"Oh! Sorry!" She began to pull her steel arm away, but Steve caught her by the wrist and stopped her.

"It's okay. Just gotta get used to it, is all."

"Okay."

His hands went around her middle, in a move that was so far from smooth that someone, somewhere had to be wincing from it. At first, they moved hesitantly against one another. But then, almost miraculously, they seemed to melt into one another. They found a rhythm that they could both relax into and Becky let her mind wander. It wasn't exactly strange that so crowded a place could be so oddly intimate, Becky realized. When she'd been the Winter Soldier, she'd had to blend into crowds on more than one mission. This was different, though. The crowd insulated them, making Becky hyper aware of the closeness of their bodies. She didn't normally feel self conscious about anything, but suddenly felt nervous at how close Steve was. And it had nothing to do with the programming she had to force herself to forget.

And then he stepped on her foot.

"Jesus, Rogers!" Becky said, a bubble of laughter escaping her mouth before she could quite help herself. "Watch it!" There was a moment of pain and it was likely that had she been wearing anything but the boots on her feet that her toes would have been crushed. Not for the first time in her life, her feet had been saved by leather boots.

"Sorry!" Sheepishly, Steve backed up and proceeded to bump into someone behind him.

Becky barely held in a laugh and pulled Steve back to her before her best friend caused serious injury to anyone around them. "It's fine. Just... be careful."

The next two songs passed quickly and Becky felt herself relaxing more and more into Steve. When her hips accidentally gyrated against his, she didn't freeze, but she also didn't meet his eye. And if he was bothered by it, he didn't let it show. Becky eventually found herself pressed into Steve, but it didn't feel sexual in the way the college kids around her hopeless flailing did. There was little subtly to the movements of the people around them, it was anything but casual. 

Becky tried to think back to the dances of her youth, when she'd spent countless nights hanging off the arms or the necks of young men who were willing to show her a good time and wondered how naive those courtships would compare with these modern moves. But then, Becky realized, at least half the boys she'd spent time with had tried to get into her skirt. Maybe it wasn't so different now. Maybe it was a bit more brash, but that seemed fairly true of the entire era. 

It was this line of thought that brought slow memories boiling to the surface of Becky's mind. She closed her eyes and crowded into Steve and saw visions of younger men with big grins and slicked back hair. The music melted into a slower tune and Becky caught brief lines of lyrics that had been long forgotten to her. And then, truly jarring, she remembered the sight of familiar blue eyes staring at her. 

Becky froze and Steve was quick to follow, stuttering out apologies because he'd thought he'd stepped on her toes again. When he realized that Becky looked to be staring at something decades away, he placed both hands on either side of her face and tried to talk her back above the music. But Becky was somewhere else...

The only real announcement of autumn's approach was the fact that the long nights had gotten chillier. Becky, not quite stumbling, but drunk enough that she could feel it, had her arms wrapped around herself when Steve let her into his apartment. 

They'd been fighting. Becky couldn't remember what about, but she knew she was so mad that all she wanted to do was give him the sort of punch that would knock him over. Underneath that, hurt bloomed like a fresh daisy, but Becky was stubborn, and she wasn't about to admit that. Steve watched her with wary, careful eyes, unsure what might explode out of her. 

He didn't expect the kiss, nor the way Becky dragged her nails down his chest. She was giving in to the urges she'd managed to bury long enough, and that meant she wasn't going to play coy about it anymore. Steve tried to protest, something about her modesty or something equally stupid, especially since he knew that she slept around when the desire to do so hit, but she swallowed his words and soon, his hands were moving to her hips, holding her close, but not too close. 

The middle of the story blurred, but Becky got little pictures in her mind. She saw Steve pulling his shirt off and then leaning close, the pair of them making their way to his bed, the sharp lines of his ribs jutting out against his skin and softening in shadow. The image that stayed with her was that of Steve's sky blue eyes going dark as he stared up at her from between her thighs. She could feel sheets underneath her and the cool air on exposed skin. 

The memory burned and Becky tried to focus on it, but there were people around her, brushing against her. And Steve was there, in her face, desperate to bring her back. 

"Beck, come on. Come back." 

Her eyes focused and she knew that at least for a second she must have looked like the picture of the Winter Soldier, because Steve tensed. Instead of throwing herself into a fight, she pulled herself out of Steve's grasp and shoved through the crowd. In record time, she was out of the building and gasping for air. 

"Becky!"

She needed to concentrate on something other than Steve and his quickly approaching form, so Becky focused on the ringing in her ears and the sudden absence of a pulse beat of music running through her body. She sucked in cool, fresh air in large gasps. 

"Becky," Steve said, voice low now that he was closer. "What it is?"

The two of them were in an alley. Every few seconds small groups of people would pass them by, but they hardly spared the pair of them a second glance. Most were leaving one bar for the next club and were too busy to focus on anything but their own entertainment. 

"It's-" Becky stopped herself. Had things always been like that in the past? Why hadn't Steve ever said anything about it before? Had it been just the once? Her mind raced at the possibilities, quick to point guilt in Steve's direction, though she knew that was ridiculous. "I can't," she whispered and shook her head quickly. "Need to think."

"You can talk to me. I'll help."

Her lips curled into a mean smirk. "All you want to do is help," she said, regretting it almost instantly, but not enough so to stop herself from continuing. "Maybe you can't help me, Steve. You ever thought of that? Maybe I'm just a fucked up mess." She held her hands out in front of her, glanced down at her steel hand and flexed those fingers. 

From the look on his face, Becky could almost tell exactly what he was about to say. She wanted to laugh as he spoke, but couldn't bring herself to do it. He was a good man. Too good a man to be dealing with this. And still, he tried, "You're not just that. And you'll get better. You're my best friend."

"Is that all I am?" There was a challenge there and Becky took one step forward, eyes on Steve's. If there was electricity there, Becky couldn't be sure she wasn't just imagining it. 

"What are you talking ab-"

"Forget it." Becky pushed past him. "I'm going home. I'm done." She forced herself forward, shoving her hands in her pockets, and not allowing herself to look back, leaving Steve standing there, utterly confused. "Night, Steve."

The entire walk home, there was a lump in her throat and she all but chanted at herself what a coward she was until she eventually fell into her bed.

\------

The dream came after a restless hour of tossing and turning her way into tangled sheets. It filled in some of the gaps. In it, Becky was still young and whole and fresh in a way that seemed so impossibly distant in the daylight. She enjoyed the feeling and then realized she was on her back on a bed that wasn't hers and there was a boy above her. 

Her instinct was to tease Steve - not to be mean, but to have fun and reassure him that his skinny frame didn't put her off in the least. She wanted to poke a finger between his jutting ribs and then trace the spaces between each until he was purring for more. But she didn't; it wasn't out of fear, not really, or at least that's what she told herself. They couldn't play much like this, not when it was their first time like this. Becky was deathly afraid that one wrong move would break the spell cast upon them and then Steve would straighten and kick her out because what sort of young lady did this with men they weren't gonna marry some day?

She didn't stop to think that Steve knew about the kind of things she did with some of the neighborhood boys and that had never stopped him from being around her before. But this was different.

So instead of playing, she brought her hand up to his neck and gently dragged him down into another hungry kiss. It seemed to go on forever, the kiss, in the best and worst possible way. Becky didn't want it to end, but also wanted more and she was torn between allowing it to continue until they were dizzy or push forward. It was instinct that had her moving against him, just the gentlest brush of middle against middle and she let out a soft, pleased noise when she realized he was hard against her. Hard for her. 

And that wasn't all. 

His hands were starting to move, to brush against her clothed stomach, to tremble against her thigh. He sighed into her mouth when she reacted to his touch. She was desperate to speak, wanted to whisper, "More! This! Yes! Please!" but instead managed to convey these thoughts through touch and sound. When his hand hesitated by her breast, Becky covered it with her own and pushed him the rest of the way. 

He started when he felt her nipple against his fingertips and Becky's stomach dropped, thinking that this would be the moment it all ended. But, though he'd pulled away enough to look down on her with wide eyes, he didn't speak. Breathing raggedly, Becky unbuttoned the front of her dress and watched the way red seemed to seep up Steve's skin and color his cheeks. Gently, she leaned forward and kissed the blush that continued to spread. When she'd undone enough of the buttons, she took his hand and placed it atop her bra. 

Whatever hesitation that had been lingering in his eyes dissolved as lust took over. And suddenly Steve, sweet, honest, kind Steve, leaned in to touch her and kiss her until she was shaking with need. Their clothing was shed piece by piece. Every time she thought they might stop, one of them would surge forward. Becky would grind their hips together, nearly frantic for some sort of friction and utterly pleased at the way it got to Steve. Or Steve would tangle his fingers in her hair and give it a little tug. 

Just that was enough to make her whimper.

When they were naked enough that sex was suddenly less of an option and more of an imperative, Becky froze as an unpleasant realization hit her. "Shit, I don't have a condom," she said breathlessly. She suddenly wanted to cry, she needed him so bad, but couldn't, wouldn't have sex without one. "Shit. I can't. Steve-" her voice wavered. How stupid had she been to come over without one? She should have been thinking clearer. Becky opened her mouth to apologize frantically.

Whatever she might have said was stolen from her lips with a quick kiss and the delicious sensation of Steve's hand sliding down her middle and stopping between her thighs. She let out a moan. And the quiet thought hit her that she'd imagined this scenario play out more than once in her lifetime. 

His fingers were thin and nimble, but far from expert. After the first brush against her where his fingers got damp, he hesitated. And then, in typically Steve Rogers fashion, he dove in. Becky noticed his eyes on her. He was, she realized, watching for reactions, clueless of the fact that he probably could have gotten her off by brushing her ears for how much she wanted him.

Becky knew Steve, though. She knew he was a fast learner and knew that he'd listen if she told him what to do. So she did so with soft moans and quiet whimpers. When he did something just right, she told him in a breathy whisper to do it again. It wasn't perfect, but there was a gentle frantic rhythm building up that was making her toes curl. 

And then, quite unexpectedly, he started to kiss his way down her center. "What-" she murmured when she felt the heat of him leave to go south and her exposed breasts grew cold from the night air. And then she felt the press of his lips to a spot just above her navel and she let out a ragged gasp. The thought of what he was about to do was about as erotic as the act itself. 

He kissed her thighs, quick and gentle, then with more force. He sucked a small spot onto the inside of her leg and Becky couldn't help but rock against his fingers, which moved lazily in and out of her. She sighed out his name and glanced down at him and the sight of him staring at her, sky-blue eyes gone dark, was enough to bring her close to orgasm. 

Then his mouth was on her, sloppily kissing every inch of her, and Becky couldn't help but wonder why she'd ever done this with anyone else when it could have been Steve all along. Then his tongue dipped into her and all thought was lost. There were a few blind moments of pleasure where Becky's head was thrown back and her eyes were squeezed shut and the only thing she could feel was Steve's breath on her thighs, his fingers on her clit. When she returned to herself, Becky peeked down at Steve and met his eyes and realized something. 

"Wait. Steve." She began to prop herself up on her elbows. 

Steve stopped suddenly, his pink cheeks puffed out slightly. His chin was wet from her and Becky realized she'd probably never get that image out of her head. His brows were knit together, though, confusion and something like shame making their way onto his features. He was going to pull away in a second, murmur apologies, and maybe they'd never speak to each other ever again. Becky would be a damn fool to let that happen. 

"Wait. You should... I want..." Becky was far from a blushing virgin, but it took a minute to work the words out. "You should touch yourself," she blurted, looking down at him and feeling like someone had socked her in the stomach at the way his face changed as lust bore down on him once again. God, he was handsome. How could all those neighborhood girls not see?

He nodded his head. "Okay."

"You should feel good, too," she explained, feeling oddly shy, though she'd certainly said much worse to boys she'd known much less.

For a moment, they stared at one another and Becky felt so exposed and so raw. And suddenly she wanted to tell him that she'd loved him and that all the boys in all the bars in all the world couldn't nearly hold a candle to him. But then he started to lick at her again and this time, she caught sight of his hand around his hard cock, and her words left her.

\------

When she woke, it took Becky a moment to realize that she wasn't on a twin sized cot that belonged to her childhood best friend and that she wasn't in Brooklyn. As everything came rushing back, she exhaled quietly and tried to piece together what she knew. What it all boiled down to was that it wasn't enough; she didn't really remember how it'd happened or how it had ended and suddenly old buried feelings were there. 

Maybe they'd always been, but she'd just chosen to ignore them. It was an easy enough thing for a soldier like her to do. But with the memories rushing back, the line between the past and present blurred. What she'd managed to mute in the present suddenly didn't want to be silenced. 

There were sounds outside her door. Steve sometimes did this and though it bothered Becky, she also knew it made sense; Steve could gauge her mental state through her reactions. If she shut herself in her room all day, she was mad or upset or dealing with the worst sort of memories. If she came out, she'd know where to find him from all the noise he made. He had always been a little cheat, but Becky took a little comfort from that. 

It had been months since her last episode. The last time a memory had come, it had been of a job outside of Russia. She'd gone silent for a few days and then, out of nowhere, had tried attacking Steve when he'd gotten too close. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was back sliding. And she didn't want him to be afraid of her, either. Becky decided that she could prove to both Steve and herself that she was getting better. 

God help her, she was going to try to be mature. 

Before she left her bedroom, she stood before her vanity and gave herself a wry grin. "Yeah," she muttered to herself, "Good luck with that."

She took a shower first, because she was a bit of a coward, and also because she'd needed it after a night of what-passed-for-dancing-these-days. When she was done, she padded barefoot into the kitchen to where Steve was fussing over a frying pan. She couldn't help but smile a small smile at his back. He had made toast and bacon and was working on scrambled eggs and there was enough for a few people. 

Of course, Steve could eat more than one course in a sitting, so that might not mean so much.

Briefly, Becky considered going for a slice of bacon, but stopped herself. She opened her mouth and her stomach rumbled before she could get a word out. If Steve didn't know she was there before, he did now. Her metal hand balled into a fist. He didn't turn or acknowledge her; she wasn't sure if it was annoyance for what had happened last night or if it was a sign of trust. She knew that there'd been a time where she'd have been able to understand his intentions better than her own, but those days had passed. "Hey," she said to his back, voice softer than she intended. 

"Hey." He mimicked her tone and turned to glance at her quickly before giving his attention back to the eggs. "Morning. There's food." There was tension in Steve's shoulders and Becky felt the odd urge to break the distance between them. She wanted to hug him from behind, apologize for the basket case she'd been turned into, but stood her ground. 

Sometimes everything could just be so difficult.

"It smells good." 

"You could have some." He seemed to be wrapping up with the eggs, turning down the burner, and fetching himself a plate. "If you wanted." 

Her stomach rumbled again. She noticed the way Steve's lip twitched. "I guess so, yeah."

They ate in relative silence, with Steve casting furtive glances at Becky when he thought she might not notice. This was a thing he'd done back when they had been much younger, back when they'd lived across the hall from one another in Brooklyn and he'd done something to earn Becky's ire. When she was nearly done with her food, Becky laid down her fork. "You haven't really changed, you know."

Steve looked up from his plate and met her eye. 

"I don't remember everything. But I remember enough. It's funny. All the shitty things that happened to us and you're still..." Her voice was soft and she let the end of her sentence hang in the air, unspoken. He was still so good, still so pure, in a way. Even after all the bloodshed and violence. In spite of her best efforts, Becky glanced down at her metal arm, at the intricate details between two sheets of steel. "I don't know why you put up with me. I'm not like how I was before."

"Beck, I-"

"You don't have to say anything, Steve." Her hair was long and loose and still wet from the shower. There was a damp stain of water running down the spine of her shirt. "I don't want to argue about it. I just... you could tell me to go. If I get to be too much." She couldn't look at him when she said it, even though she'd said it before and there'd been plenty of times in the past where she'd been worse. "I'm sorry about last night. I remembered something and it unsettled me." Slowly, she pushed her plate forward, giving herself enough room to fold her hands on the table. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Steve's sky blue eyes were staring at her and his tone was as cautious as it ever got. He wanted to help, his body was tense with it, Becky could tell, but he didn't really know the best approach. There was no best approach, really. Becky needed different things depending on the memories she regained or the state she was in or the time of day. Recovery could be funny like that. 

"I want to ask you a question first." There was a prickling of nervousness at the back of her neck that made her want to go running from the room, but she planted her feet on the floor and squeezed her metal hand.

"Shoot." 

"Why didn't we get married?"

"Huh?" It was clear that Steve hadn't been expecting that. His brow knit together and his mouth hung open a moment. Becky fought back the urge to smile in spite of how uncomfortable she felt. 

"Before the war, I mean. You coulda asked me." The words came out slowly, at first, and then gained speed. "I know I wasn't really the nicest girl. Or the... purest, I guess. But I always kinda thought, I mean, I figured it would happen eventually. And we'd'a been old enough before the war. But we never did. You never asked. And I never woulda pushed it, I think. I mean, maybe." She was rambling and desperate to stop herself, but couldn't, now that the question was out in the open. "Maybe if you'd've gotten a serious girl in your life it might'a made me do something, I don't know but," she paused for a moment, "You coulda done it during the war, too. There never was a good time, but we coulda been killed and-"

"Where's this coming from?" Steve asked suddenly, interrupting. 

"I don't know. It just, I just wanted to know."

"You wanted me to ask you?"

And that confusion, that look of surprise on Steve's face, it felt a little like a slap in the face. "I thought you would until I didn't." She let out a soft, frustrated noise. "Did we ever talk about it?" She tried to search through her moth-eaten memories of childhood, but it wasn't something she could see. 

"No," Steve said, sitting back in his chair. "Beck. I didn't ask you because... I never thought you'd want me to. You always went with guys twice my size. They all had dark hair and were... pricks."

"They didn't mean anything. They were just a good time. I don't really remember any of them, but this one boy, maybe, and I don't remember his name and I can't really see his face anymore. He had this hair stuff that smelled nice, that's what stayed with me. But they weren't anything serious." She opened her mouth, closed it, and then continued, "I was waiting for," but cut herself short suddenly.

Steve's eyes widened in recognition.

"It's fine," Becky shook her head. "I was just curious. I had this memory and it didn't make sense with everything else I know. Maybe I'm confusing things." She couldn't interpret the look on Steve's face and she was feeling increasingly embarrassed by the train of thought. This was, after all, ancient history. Becky Barnes had been a bad girl in the 30s. She was a mess in the new century, so it didn't matter anymore what they might have done in their past. "Forget it," Becky said quickly, turning to look at anything but Steve. Her eyes focused on the building across the street, on the red bricks that ran up that wall and she hoped her cheeks weren't a similar deep shade. 

"Beck," Steve said, "I didn't know."

"It's fine."

"No. You don't understand." Steve shifted in his seat. "Look." He waited until she met his eyes before continuing, "Back before the serum, I didn't think anybody would want me. Marriage wasn't an option. I didn't think I was going to make it very long and I didn't want to put any woman through burying me. What would've happened to her? Even if I'd been selfish, I didn't think any lady would be interested in a guy that she could probably carry across the city in her arms if she really needed to. It was easier when the war started, that was something I could focus on. If I died in battle, I thought that could have been better. I didn't think I would be a family man, but at least I'd have fought for my country." A pause. "Thing is," his voice softened into a whisper, "there were only two women I've ever thought of marrying. Well," he smiled, "three if you count Mrs. Boyle from down the block when we were ten. But," he sighed, "when I was healthy and it suddenly wasn't so stupid a thing and... well, there was Peggy and there was you. But I just didn't really get my act together in time, did I?"

Becky felt her eyes water, but blinked before the world grew blurry around her. She smiled, but it was sad. "You and Peggy would'a been really nice together." She meant it. Peggy Carter had been absolutely brilliant and Becky doubted she'd have made it as far as she had without Peggy's help. She never had begrudged whatever had gone on between Peggy and Steve, even though she'd been jealous. 

"Yeah, we would have. So would you and me."

Becky brought a hand to her brow, let the shadow it cast cover up the half of her face that her arm couldn't. She let out a shaky breath and didn't know what she felt. Her heart swelled, but there was bruising underneath because their lives could have been so much different if one of them could have gotten their act together in time. 

"I, um," Becky spoke from behind the shield of her arm, "I remembered being with you. In your bed. A little drunk. But not enough to forget. And we did things. Together. Not sex, but pretty close." She exhaled shakily, "We didn't have a condom. It was when you were still skinny. I don't really know what to make of it." 

"We only did that once, if that's what you're asking." Steve, for his part, didn't seem overly embarrassed. He was calm, factual, and managing to look at Becky.

"Okay."

"I just thought... that was right after Erskine had decided to give me a chance. I thought you were upset and drunk. You yelled at me when I told you about it and then you didn't talk to me for a few days and then you showed up at my door and that happened. I thought you just were worried about me. And we didn't talk about it after. I didn't think... If I had known that it..." Becky stood suddenly and walked to the window. She opened it with a ferocity that shut Steve up. "Beck?"

"I just need air." She had her back to him and breathed in and out deeply, reveling in the clean autumn air. "I'm fine."

"Beck."

"It's just," she exhaled and it came out like a manic soft of laugh, "Sometimes I wonder about all the things got taken from me. I'll never be normal again, and I'm making peace with that where I can. I'm missing an arm and that's weird, but I'm dealing with that. I didn't get to see my sisters grow up or bury my parents," she laughed, but it lacked humor, "Hell, I don't remember much of them most days. I am a broken thing now and I know you don't want to hear that and you want to help, but that's the long and short of it, Stevie. I won't be normal again and I don't even think I'll be whole again, all those things they got me to do, all that blood and all those faces in the back of my head forever. Can't remember my mom's cooking, but I know how to kill you with almost anything in this room. Can't tell anyone everything I've done because I don't want them to look at me different. Won't trust myself completely again because God knows if they left some nasty little hook in me that we missed somehow. And now," her voice wavered for a moment and she had to swallow before continuing. "When the memories started to come back and I realized that I'd always liked you like that, I never thought you'd felt the same way back." 

"I'm sorry." Steve's tone was soft and grave. Becky wished that she could know what he was thinking.

"I know, Steve." She swiped at her eyes and turned to him. "I need to go out for a while. Get my head on straight." 

"Okay." Steve rose and Becky feared, for a moment, that he'd go to her, try to comfort her. He didn't. Instead, he went to fetch her boots and put them by the seat she'd just abandoned. He gave her space as she sat and laced them up. "Becky. I know there isn't really anything I can do to make it better. I'm sorry I can't fix this for you. But I'm still here. And I still care about you. And," he hesitated, "you can tell me everything. I'm not gonna look at you differently."

She nodded her head and ignored how her world grew blurry. Clearing her throat, she stood and walked to the door. "I'll be back. Promise. Just..." She was gone before she could finish the sentence. 

\------

The moon was in the sky and the wind had a chill by the time Becky got back to the apartment. Still feeling strange, but feeling less wired and needlessly restless, she returned silently, turning her key slowly in the lock and toeing out of her shoes as soon as the door had closed behind her. She wasn't avoiding Steve, she told herself, she simply didn't want to bother him. She'd done enough of that for one day. 

"Welcome back."

She was facing a wall and so didn't hide the wince. Instead, she turned and ran her metal arm up and down the flesh and blood one in a poor attempt to chase away the chill that had settled under her skin. "Thanks." 

"Feeling any better?"

"Yeah. A little. Thanks."

There was an awkwardness that hung in the air between them. At once, they both tried to speak. "Look I-" "Steve, you-" In spite of herself, Becky laughed and, after a moment, Steve joined her. "Jesus," she said, "Ain't we a pair?" She ran her fingers through her hair and searched Steve's face as the smiles melted off the both of them. "Sorry if I made it weird. I'm not expecting anything from you, if that's what you're thinking." 

"I wasn't, actually."

"You wouldn't." She scoffed. "Captain America. They couldn't have found a better fit for you. You're a good man, you know." 

"I'm alright," Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. Then, hesitantly, he shuffled on his feet and spoke, "Beck, you don't have to keep beating yourself up over the past."

"I do. Don't really have anything else to do about it. There are things in my head, even when I'm playing at being good. Even when I feel like I could be a person again."

"You are good. You are a person."

"I'm alright. And I'm... something. I don't know what."

"I'll keep saying it until you believe me."

"I know." There was warmth in her voice. "Steve, I think maybe I should move out."

He frowned. "What?"

"When I came back, I went to you and I leaned on you. I can't keep doing this to you. You should have a life. You should find a new girl. You should be happy and not babysitting me all the time. You sure as shit shouldn't be dwelling on things that happened more than seventy years ago. And I," she glanced down at her feet, "maybe I should figure out how to live without you."

"You don't have to," Steve shot back. "Look, if this is about that memory and you not feeling comfortable being here anymore, that I can understand. Wouldn't like it, but I wouldn't want you to stay somewhere you felt awkward all the time. And if you need to go find yourself some more and you can't do that with me, that's okay, too. But you're my best friend, Beck. You're not a burden. I want to help you because that's what we do. When I used to get sick, you'd take jobs around the neighborhood to help me get medicine and then you'd try to get my fever down or talk me through asthma. This isn't the same, but it's not that different. If I wanted to find some girl, I would have. But, honestly, nothing's felt half as good as having you back and seeing you smile. You think I'd have ever gone out dancing without you? A few years ago, all I did was stay home or go to a gym. I was in a bad state. Things aren't the same now, but neither are we. I'm not making any sacrifices because you're here. You're helping me as much as I've been trying to help you."

Becky shook her head and mimicked Steve's pose, wrapping her arms around herself. "Such a dumb punk," she murmured. "I'm giving you a chance to be free of this whole mess." Of me, she thought, but didn't say.

"Maybe you're just too slow to get it." He smiled softly. "I'm trying to tell you, I don't want to be free of you."

Becky had never, not even when she'd been a child, been the most physically affectionate person. Not, at least, when it counted. As a teenager and twenty-something, she'd been able to open her arms and legs for boys with predatory smiles and slicked back hair, but she'd tended to keep a distance from Steve unless he'd absolutely needed it. Decades of abuse had made things even harder for her, but, she thought, it was easier to have everyone keep their distance when they knew what you were coming from. It went against instinct to get close, but she did anyway, breaking the distance between them until she was standing in his space. She looked up the few inches between them and stared into his face, trying to read him. Then, hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around him. 

He hugged her back slowly, knowing better than to spook her by overwhelming her her with physical sensation. And, to Becky's surprise, though it didn't come natural, it did feel right somehow. She let herself languish in the solidness of his body against hers, rested her head lightly on his shoulder, and shut her eyes. If she tried, she could almost imagine them somewhere else, with fewer problems and scars.

"That thing you remembered?" Steve's voice was a soft murmur in her hair that brought her back to reality. 

"Hm?"

"There were times during the war, Beck, that I thought it might happen again. It was always a bad time. Always had someone about to walk in on us. Always had somewhere to be. Sometimes, you were too hurt. Sometimes there was Peggy and you'd disappear and I thought it didn't mean anything. But..." Steve's words caught in his chest. Becky could almost feel the weight of them. "I thought about it. And we kissed, sometimes, nothing real serious. But there were times when it got scary and we clung to each other and I thought it was just war, but I think I might've been stupid."

Becky exhaled, a quiet laugh shaking her shoulders. "Might'a been?"

Steve pulled away enough that he could look her in the eye. It unnerved Becky that there wasn't a sparkle of humor there. "You coming back has been a second chance for us to do a lot of things differently. It hasn't been easy for you, I know, but..." he let unspoken words hang in the air between them and Becky found an odd sort of feeling grow inside her. Coming out of the Winter Soldier training had been difficult. She'd had to relearn how to be herself and there were chunks of the girl she'd once been that had been wiped clean. Wanting wasn't something she spared much thought on, especially in the beginning when parsing between simple things like hunger and physical exhaustion were confusing. 

Now, with little room between them and piercing blue eyes resting on her face, Becky felt a fresh wave of something like desire hit her hard. Maybe it was wrong to feel this way and act on such feelings when she was still figuring herself out, but Steve had made it clear that he didn't want out of their friendship. 

"Are we just friends?" Becky asked as her breath mingled with his. He smelled of sweet mint, as though he'd been chewing gum or brushing his teeth recently. 

"You're my best friend, "Steve admitted quietly, "But I don't know if we've ever been just friends." 

She brought metal fingers to his chest and up to his shoulder before letting them dance lightly across his skin. She watched the glint of silver clash with the tan shirt he wore before bringing a finger to his neck. There was the lightest hint of stubble on his chin, a shadow from the stretch of the day. He didn't start, even though her fingers must have been cold against his skin. The realization that she wanted to touch him came and settled over her, something she couldn't even try to deny to herself. 

He was solid, comforting heat and she felt wild and cool. Becky licked her lips and glanced into his eyes. Steve seemed vulnerable in the evening light that filtered in through the nearest window. He was watching her, waiting on her, because he wasn't going to rush her into something. She knew it was a gift, one of many, that she got to see him in such a way and that he could show such patience with her.

Before she could stop herself, Becky leaned in and brushed her lips against his. It was quick and chaste, a testing of waters. Though her brain was screaming at her to think of how it might destroy things later on, she'd be lying to herself if she said it didn't feel good. His hand was on her hip and she wasn't entirely certain of when it had gotten there and this served as a reminder that Steve had the power to make her less soldier. In his presence, her guard could go down and if that wasn't telling, she didn't know what was. 

She kissed him again, surging into him as affection for him bloomed inside her. Her flesh hand wrapped around his arm and her metal remained just under his chin. It was only a moment before he was reciprocating the action, his mouth opening, his tongue moving into her mouth. Becky tipped her head back and bit into his mouth, decades of hunger for him bubbling to the surface. 

They moved as they'd always moved, together, as though able to read each other's minds. Steve was pushing her back until they were against a wall and Becky was arching into him. Suddenly, she couldn't do anything but want and everything around them was an obstacle to pleasure she wanted to both give and receive. 

There was a hand in her hair and when the kiss got too frantic, it was tugging her so that her neck was exposed to him. He leaned in, close and warm and wonderful, before planting desperate nips along her throat. Becky let out a harsh noise at the sensation of his teeth on her skin and all but whimpered when he sucked a mark there. 

This was simple in a way that Becky hadn't expected it to be and time seemed to slow as they let instinct take over. They were far from gentle, their movements guided by desperation that they hadn't realized existed before. But it slowed suddenly, sometime after Becky had lost her shirt and Steve's pants had found themselves half open. Steve halted the grinding of his hips against her, and it took Becky all her self control to not whine into his mouth for more. 

"Is this okay?" He asked, breathless and searching her face for some sort of confirmation. "Too fast? Do you need me to-"

"I want to go to bed with you. Tonight. I don't want to wait anymore." Becky spoke through kiss-swollen lips, voice husky. She hoped she didn't sound as shaky as she felt. The last thing she wanted was for Steve to misinterpret her. 

"Okay. Good." 

It took them longer than absolutely necessary to get to Steve's bedroom, their limbs too tangled for them to make the trip smoothly or quickly. At one point, Becky couldn't help but laugh into Steve's chest as he nearly tripped down the hallway as his legs got tangled in his own pants. "He's beauty, he's grace, he's Mister Unit-" she chanted something that Tony had taught her weeks prior, only to be cut off by Steve tugging his shirt off, kicking out of his pants, smirking, and telling her to be quiet before leaning in and laying kisses across her collarbone. As he did this, she took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts. He fumbled to get his fingers under her bra, but managed well enough once she'd reached behind herself and unhooked it.

They eventually made it to his bedroom and onto the overly large, overly soft bed of his. Becky straddled Steve, who had managed to shed most of his clothes. She ground against his erection and the growing wet spot on the front of his briefs, still wearing pants, but not wanting to shed them because she enjoyed kissing him from this angle and the sounds she could pull out of him just from moving against him. 

But Steve had his own idea about things and his hands moved from her naked chest to her center where he did quick work of her belt and then of the zipper on her pants. "Off," he said between hungry kisses, his hand sliding down beneath her pants to cup her ass. "Now, Beck. Please." To add emphasis, he flipped them. Becky's world spun and suddenly she was on her back. She let out a quiet gasp as she felt Steve tugging her pants and underwear down. She was exposed and in any other circumstance, that might have been a bad thing. Here, she just felt vulnerable and, somehow, comforted by his presence on top of her. 

Steve exhaled quietly. "You know you're beautiful?" He took a moment from their frantic gestures to glance down at her and she knew, from the love that shone in his eyes, that he wasn't lying, even as his eyes passed over old scars that were reminders of all the ugly things she'd ever done. 

"I love you," she said suddenly, because holding it in seemed stupid and impossible in the moment. The words had fought their way out of her, not wanting to be contained any longer. "I love you," she repeated, "I should have said that a long time ago."

And then they were kissing. And Steve shucked out of his underwear and they were naked and sliding against one another. Becky had a leg hooked around Steve's hip and they were so close together that he might have shifted and slid into her. Before this happened, though, Becky realized that they probably still needed protection. "Fucking Christ. Do you have a condom?"

"No," Steve said, not crumbling in composure as Becky did when she threw her head back and swore loudly. "I was thinking of saving that for a little later, anyway."

"Steve-" 

Whatever she might have said was stolen from her lips and his hand slid down her side, brushed her hip, and then moved to her pussy. His fingers were larger than she remembered and seemed far more certain than they had a lifetime ago. He rubbed her clit with two fingers, causing Becky to moan in relief at the friction. Then, he was kissing his was down her body, pausing at her breasts to lick and suck at sensitive skin, biting down her ribs, nuzzling at her stomach, before stopping between her thighs. Becky watched him, entranced. 

"After we did this the first time," Steve spoke softly, his breath tickling her thighs, "I thought about doing it again." He buried his face into her and she arched into him as his tongue darted out to taste her. And then he backed up enough that he could speak. "I thought about what I'd do different, how I'd make it better." His voice had a deeper edge than normal and his eyes were staring into hers. He bit into her right thigh and Becky moaned out his name in response. "Mostly," he said, working a finger into her, "I thought about how I'd make you come. And whether I'd take my time or make it fast." His finger was joined by another and they slid into and out of her at a maddeningly slow pace.

"Steve, please."

He sped up just a bit, watching her with dark and curious eyes. He smirked when she threw her head back and arched into him. After a moment, he leaned back in and let his tongue run over her clit. Becky felt overwhelmed by the sensation and the noises that came out of her were loud and nonsensical. Perhaps he'd intended to drive her crazy longer, but he seemed as much a slave to his desire as she was. His mouth grew frantic against her and his fingers moved roughly when she tugged at his hair with her flesh and blood hand. 

After some time, she came around his fingers with a shout. 

Her body, which had been trained for decades to be unfeeling and still, trembled as she came down from her orgasm. And Steve moved up and held her through it. Silence settled over them, peaceful and deep, and was only broken once Becky could trust herself to speak. "We really," she said, "really need to pick up some condoms."

Steve laughed. And then she was laughing with him. 

"Yeah," he said after a long moment, smile still on his face. "We do. Tomorrow?" 

"First fucking thing in the morning."

Everything wasn't perfect, but then Becky had stopped thinking of life in such terms. She wasn't perfect; she'd been broken beyond that point. But neither was Steve, so maybe perfection wasn't absolutely necessary to moving on. Being together was better than being alone. And, for the first time in a long time, Becky felt safe and comfortable. The tension she always carried in her shoulders was gone for the moment and though she knew it'd be back sooner or later, it didn't seem so daunting in the moment. Quickly, she planted a soft kiss on Steve's cheek. 

"Hey," she said, voice like spun silk. 

"Yeah?"

"Until then, I was wondering if I could do something for you."

Steve raised a brow, amusement dancing across his features. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her hand moved down to his erection. She chuckled as he sucked in a breath of air. 

She kissed him as her hand moved and it struck her hard and suddenly that she was going to be okay. Then, Steve let out a quiet noise, and all of her attention focused elsewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at thefatfeminist.tumblr.com where I mostly reblog pictures of pretty fictional people and things that inspire me. I'd be delighted to get comments or thoughts or words or prompts.


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